


Panic

by minutemarch



Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Monza, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutemarch/pseuds/minutemarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>40 days after the crash at Nurburgring Niki is back in the car but he's not ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic

Niki Lauda was an idiot.

A magnificent idiot but a giant, raging, idiot. 

This was the thought uppermost in James Hunt’s mind as he went looking for his friend.  
40 days. What the hell made him think he’d be ready to get back in the car after 40 bloody days? He knew his team weren’t putting the pressure on him. They’d got a replacement and Hunt was pretty sure they were as surprised as he was when he he’d heard the news. Niki Lauda was at the track, and not just to watch.

Only when he saw him he couldn’t do more than apologise. He couldn’t do more than stare. He’d been so relieved to see Niki upright, been so shocked as he’d turned to reveal the horrible damage. Been as fast as he could to hide his reaction but he knew he’d been too slow. He’d felt his smile fading. He hadn’t been absolved but there was an understanding. He could live with that. He still thought Niki was crazy to be there, somehow wanted to shield him from himself, but that was ridiculous. It was Niki’s choice. His choice.

By then he’d had to go. He had work to do. The track had been modified and he needed the practice to familiarise himself with it. He needed to make sure the car was on song and find any last minute kinks. He needed to get his times up, ready for qualifying the next day. He needed to not make an idiot of himself in front of the Italians. He didn’t have time to worry about whatever crazy shit Niki was doing to himself. He was only burning to ask exactly what odds Lauda had given himself for finishing the race, worry fueling his anger because worry like that… he didn’t know what else to do with. Guilt like that easily made him ashamed.

It was a good three hours before he got time for a break and he still hadn’t been happy with the car. The track was consolidating in his consciousness but he was keeping his mechanics busy with last-minute adjustments.

After so long under heavy focus he needed a few minutes to clear his head. He avoided the small cluster of locals who had come to watch. He knew the Italians had little love for him and his team (And, in Alistair’s case, it was mutual.) It was absolutely no deterrent to his performance, the opposite really, but he had no illusions about hanging out with them. (Aside from a few of the girls maybe. Italian girls… man.)

His thoughts were still on his car, on the twists and turns of Monza as he wandered along the side of the track, stretching his legs and aiming to shake the cobwebs of the morning session. He may have been considering lunch too. Perhaps, when he was satisfied with the car, he’d take some time in the evening for some recreation. 

He made a concerted effort not to focus on Niki. He couldn’t take that on, didn’t even know how to approach it. He’d wanted to apologise, he’d apologised. Aside from that he had no idea how to take the rest of it yet. He barely even remembered making the decision to head back to the Ferrari pits but before he was half way he saw a familiar flash of blood red making its way along the track. 

Only like it was being driven by his grandmother. On a Sunday.

He could see the pit in front of him. He watched Niki pull the car off the track and pull it to a stop. He saw him get out and hurry past his waiting crew, disappearing, walking too fast and bent in the middle, hand on his chest.

James frowned and changed his tack, bypassing the pits as he swore under his breath. 

Niki Lauda was an idiot.

~

He took himself in a long loop behind the pits. Lauda had an amazing ability to make himself vanish, even in a closed situation. Hunt was pretty sure he hadn’t left the track. (What was he gonna do? Drive away?) He was the wounded animal and he needed to lick his wounds. Hunt understood that, possibly better than most, they shared the same need to take care of things for themselves anywhere they could. When they could. 

He wasn’t surprised Niki was there so much as that he was surprised Niki was _capable_ of being there. It was clear he was pushing himself past his own endurance as it was. It had to be a mistake, to drive in that state. It had to be a risk far beyond 20%. Would he even make it to qualifying? A part of James didn’t want Niki to get back on that track and it had nothing to do with the points he was chasing.

No one seemed to notice Hunt skulking around the dark corners of Monza and he was grateful for that. He had few fans there and the staff and other drivers were all too busy and he figured Niki’s team knew better than to follow him. He was sure his own crew were cursing his name but he couldn’t turn back now. 

There was a room. The door was closed, the curtains were pulled shut. It was a room that drew no special attention. It was quiet and still. It drew James’ eye simply because it was so very invisible. He took a punt and opened the door a crack. There was a soft sound in the dark, a repetitive, fast cadence. He didn’t ask permission or announce his intention, he just slipped into the room and closed the door after him.

There was enough light to make out the jumpsuited figure sitting against the wall, legs sprawled, one bent, hands shaking softly, one on his chest, the other on the floor, breathing way too fast. The figure looked up. He didn’t frown, his expression didn’t change at all. The same worry, fear, haunted the eyes, the mouth hung slack.

_Dammit._

James Hunt shook his head and crossed to sit beside his friend, not close enough to touch but close enough to be heard in a softer voice. Even in the low light James could see the red raw and mottled skin of Niki’s forehead, stark against the white bandage that still looped his hair. He tried not to stare but it affected him. He felt he’d done it to Niki. He felt responsible. It looked like it _hurt_. It had to hurt and Niki was jamming it into his helmet. Hunt felt guilty for the burns but he didn’t hold himself to blame for Niki’s response.

40 days. He’d been so close to gone, moments from death. It felt wrong and impossible, listening to Niki’s panicked breathing, Hunt realised there was a good reason for that.

James wanted to tell Niki to stop, he wanted to tell him to give himself more time. He wanted to apologise again but there in the moment he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those things. Niki wasn’t there to follow anyone’s recommendation but his own and James knew he would be the same. On his terms.

He turned towards his friend, breathing loud and slow and steady. “With me, Niki. Breathe with me.” 

James remembered the first time he’d had a panic attack. He thought he was having a heart attack, at 17. It was one of the most frightening moments of his young life but he’d learned from it and when it happened again he at least knew it for what it was. He had no idea if this was Niki’s first or 21st but he knew it was bad and fucked if he was leaving him alone in this state.

He expected Niki to argue, to send him away, to snap at him and it wasn’t like he would die without intervention, not from that. Worst that would happen would be he’d pass out and his breathing would return to normal but until Niki asked he was staying, and maybe even after.

Niki’s back was hunched as he tried to sit up, tried to get comfortable, tried to give his lungs enough room but James knew he’d never be able to like that. He wasn’t listening to James, his breathing was as fast as before but James didn’t think he was being stubborn this time. There was no defiance in Niki’s eyes now.

James was cautious about touching him, didn’t want to overwhelm him, but he needed his attention. His hand was light in Niki’s shoulder, his movements slow. “It’ll be easier to breath on your back. Bend your knees up.” There was sincerity in James’ eyes as they met his friend’s. There was rare gravitas. There was the of weight experience in James’ tone. He only gave instruction, no judgements, no questions, just told Niki what he needed to do. He was sure that was all Niki could take in that moment.

For a moment Niki just stared at him and James didn’t know what would happen, if anything, but then Niki nodded briefly and shifted his legs under him to settle himself on his back, legs pulled up, feet flat on the floor. James let out the breath he was holding and moved to sit by Niki’s hip. He gave his friend a minute to get used to the change of pressure on his lungs. He was still over-breathing but now at least his diaphragm had an easier path. Niki’s eyes kept flicking to James’ face as if waiting for further advice. He didn’t speak, hadn’t said a work since James appeared but it was clear he was listening.

“Try to slow your breathing,” James said softly. “From here.” He placed a hand at the base of Niki’s lungs, his touch light but only for a moment, knowing the extra weight would feel suffocating. “Imagine it moving up and down your body like a lift.”

James tried, again, to set an example but in a less obvious way. He just lay down beside Niki, on his back, knees drawn up, and breathed calmly, slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

They lay like that for a long time, the only sounds were breathing at different speeds until slowly, achingly slowly, Niki started to match James’ steady pace, at first only in patches. As his breath galloped away again James gave no reaction, just kept up his patient pace and waited for Niki to come down.

They breathed together then, as the minutes passed, and Niki no longer raced away. James listened to the rise and fall of his friend’s chest as it smoothed out and found himself relaxing too. He really wasn’t in a hurry to rise, finding the quiet dark restoring him in a way he never would have imagined. He’d never have done this if someone had suggested it as a way to prepare for a race but the peace had snuck up on him along with a sense of achievement and relief at helping his friend.

A few more minutes passed slowly before Niki finally spoke, his voice soft. “I can take it from here,” he said.  
James wasn’t surprised to be dismissed and he found he didn’t mind either. If Niki needed some time alone he’d damn well have it. He nodded in the dark and got to his feet, resting a brief hand on Niki’s raised knee as he rose. A smile and he was heading for the door, not knowing where the ball they'd started rolling would end.

“Thank you, James,” Niki said softly to the ceiling above as the Englishman’s hand touched the door handle.  
“Bitteschön, Niki,” James said over his shoulder, his eyes sparkled briefly, then he was gone.


End file.
